The CPRE is wrong: there are not 460,000 homes planned for England’s green belts

Green belt. Image: Romfordian/Wikimedia Commons.

Mamma mia, here we go again. The Campaign for the Protection of Rural England, a body whose raison d’etre is to protect the interests of elderly homeowners and fields, has produced the latest edition of its State of the Green Belt report. Does it conclude that the green belt is in a pretty fine kind of a state, sitting smugly around the place as it chokes off productivity growth and prevents us from building the houses that we need? No it does not.

The Green Belt remains under severe pressure, despite government commitments to its protection, according to a new report from the Campaign to Protect Rural England (CPRE).

CPRE’s annual State of the Green Belt report highlights that there are currently 460,000 homes being planned to be built on land that will soon be released from the Green Belt.

There’s even a TERRIFYING CHART to illustrate the problem:

Now. Regular readers will know my position on all this. The green belt is a decades-old planning policy, designed to prevent sprawl at a time when our cities were shrinking in population and, anyway, had plenty of spare land that had helpfully been cleared by the Luftwaffe. Many of those cities are today facing a housing crisis which is in large part the result of a shortage of housing supply. That, in turn, is the result of a shortage of available land on which to build.

So, if London or Oxford or Bristol are to build enough homes to meet demand, there are really only two options: build up, by densifying existing parts of the city; or build out, onto previously undeveloped land. Since there are large chunks of the green belt that have decent transport links, aren’t open to the public and are not, in fact, very green, my preference has generally been to go for the solution that doesn’t involve demolishing large numbers of existing homes simply to protect a field.

But let’s put all that to one side for a moment because the entire CPRE report is a load of smelly old bollocks anyway. Look at that chart again: note the way the number of houses “proposed for land release from the green belt” collapses after the initial 2009 figure, then gradually begins to creep up.

What’s going on here? The key is that word “proposed”. These are not real houses, yet, and very well may never become them. They exist entirely within the realms of the local plans councils have written to show how they plan to meet their housing need. The reason their numbers have increased so steeply is because more and more councils have finished producing those plans. (The 2009 draft regional plans clearly under-estimated the figure.)

In other words, what the CPRE has identified here is not an ever growing number of homes on the green belt, but an ever growing number of bits of paper saying such homes may one day be built. They’ve leapt on it, because, “Number of homes proposed for the green belt doubled in three years!” is the sort of headline that’ll get you news coverage for your report. That doesn’t change the fact those houses don’t exist and very probably, given the difficulty of getting communities to accept green belt development, never will.

Does this duplicity matter, really? We all know that campaign groups exaggerate the urgency of their issue in an attempt to garner donations and press coverage. I mean, this is the game, right?


But it does matter – because whether through deliberate cynicism, or merely sloppy research, the CPRE’s report will mislead. It suggests that a growing chunk of the British countryside is disappearing under a tide of brick. That simply isn’t true.

And persuading people that it is makes it harder for politicians to take the tough choices necessary to house this country.

Today’s CPRE report airily waves the need for such choices away, by claiming that there is enough brownfield land – that is, previously developed but currently unoccupied land – in England to provide a million extra homes. That may well be true, but this, too, is misleading, for three reasons.

One is that “land in England” is too wide a category to be useful: if your job is in Oxford, the construction of new homes in Sunderland is of no bloody use to you whatsoever. Another is that, while a million homes sounds like a big number, it isn’t: it’s three or four years supply. Were we to develop every square inch of this land as housing, we would still run out of land by about 2022.

But the biggest problem here is that brownfield land is not all suitable for housing. It may be too contaminated to be easily cleaned up without making local children glow in the dark like they’ve eaten too much Ready Brek, too far from transport links, even – confusingly – too green. (The Hoo Peninsular, in Kent, is technically brownfield: it’s also an important breeding site for nightingales.) The only time “brownfield” is a useful category is when you’re writing a misleading report about how we don’t need to build houses on fields.

So, to end where we came in, for a city struggling to build enough homes to house its population, there are only two options: build up, or build out. The CPRE has made clear it doesn’t want to build out. So what I’d like to know is – whose homes does it think we should demolish?

(Shameless plug: I argued some of these points with the CPRE’s Tom Fyans on Radio 4’s Today Programme on Monday. You can listen here – my bit starts at around 1.13.10.)

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and on Facebook as JonnElledgeWrites.

This article first appeared on our sister site, the New Statesman.

 
 
 
 

How the rise of anti-crime politics caused lasting harm to Black Americans

"I see an awareness that has developed in the Black community in the last 10 years or so about how deeply racist the criminal justice system has become," James Forman Jr. says. (David McNew/Getty Images)

The police killing of George Floyd, and the protest movement that emerged from it, has reinvigorated a national conversation around reinventing criminal justice policy in the United States.

At the same time, reports that violent crime is rising in many US cities have resurrected talk of the much-disputed “Ferguson effect,” a theory put forward by law enforcement professionals, and some researchers, who argued that police slowdowns in the wake of the first wave of Black Lives Matter protests resulted in elevated rates of violent crime. President Donald Trump is trying to weaponise this narrative, paired with images of federal officers clashing with protesters in the streets of Portland, to wage a 1968-style backlash election campaign.

“People who want to mobilise a lock-them-up style of either policing or prosecution have tried to weaponise those short-term increases,” says James Forman Jr., professor of law at Yale Law School. “Criminologists will say you have to be very, very cautious about short-term movement [in crime statistics]. We don't know whether or not what we're seeing right now [with violent crime increasing] is going to sustain itself. But the fact is, it's here and people are talking about it.”

In 2018, Forman won the Pulitzer Prize in nonfiction for his book Locking Up Our Own: Crime and Punishment in Black America. Drawing on his experience as a public defender in Washington, DC, he traced the emergence of anti-crime politics in late 20th century Black communities. Forman showed how newly empowered Black politicians fought for policies they believed would protect and uplift Black Americans, but inadvertently contributed to mass incarceration. 


CityMetric recently caught up with Forman to discuss crime trends, where he sees reason for hope in this moment and how the Black political class’s attitude toward crime and punishment has shifted since the latter part of the 20th century. 

This interview has been edited and condensed. 

There is talk right now about a resurgence of crime and violence in American cities. We saw similar, more localised concerns after the initial 2015 Black Lives Matter protests in Ferguson and Baltimore. Do you fear this could reinvigorate the kind of politics you describe in your book among segments of the Black community and political class?

I fear that it could be reinvigorated nationally and also in the Black political class. Look at the political conversations that are happening in Atlanta right now, for example, a city that also has seen a short-term uptick in crime as it is a site of a lot of protests about George Floyd and Breonna Taylor on the national level, as well as Rayshard Brooks and Ahmaud Arbery more locally in Georgia.

I think that you can already see in some of the language of the local elected officials this idea that we have to be very careful about pulling back. [They are saying] “while the protesters may make some valid points, we can't risk returning to the ‘80s and ‘90s.” Those decades really traumatised the United States, and particularly traumatised Black communities. There's a deep fear about returning to the levels of the violence that we saw in the crack years.

You write a lot about class divides among Black Americans, where middle income and elite Black people don't suffer as much from extremely punitive policies. They also have closer ties to the politicians who are creating these policies. There are very specific groups of people, even in marginalised communities, whose voices are heard.  As a result of these dynamics, you write about Black politicians fighting for things like mandatory minimum prison sentences or against decriminalising marijuana. Is there still that disconnect between those who suffer the most from criminal justice policies and those who are actually heard in political discourse?  

Let me just say a caveat, that when we talk about class divisions in the Black community it's important to hold two truths in our head at the same time. Bruce Western and others have shown the way in which class, educational status, income can dramatically reduce the likelihood of being hardest hit by the criminal system – namely incarcerated. Middle class and upper middle class Black people get some measure of protection. It's also true at the same time that Black people of all classes are worse off relative to their class counterparts in the white community. 

One area where class is least protective is policing and police stops. The police do not know how many degrees you have. They don't know how much money you have in your bank account. I want to be very clear that in making this point about class, I'm not making the argument that race or racism don't matter in this context. 

In terms of how it plays out now, I see an awareness that has developed in the Black community in the last 10 years or so about how deeply racist the criminal justice system has become. Twenty or 30 years ago they had a consciousness, but there's levels of understanding. Many of the people I write about in the book wanted to promote the interests of the Black community. They weren't motivated by indifference or callousness. When presented with mounting evidence of how awful this system has been in Black lives, they're reconsidering and recalibrating. 

Lots of former elected officials have said to me some version of “I didn't know at the time and I appreciate that you showed us in our full complexity. I appreciate that you showed the pressures we were under. If I had known then what I know now, maybe I would have been less quick to go along with some of these harsh measures.” 

The second thing that has affected the Black political class has been the emerging movements, led by Black people in particular and led by young people. They not only educated leaders, but pressured them and made them understand that there is a political cost. If you're not moved by the moral argument, then you'll be moved by the political argument. You'll be moved by the people protesting outside the office of District Attorney Jackie Lacey in Los Angeles, for example, where Black Lives Matter LA has held, I believe, a year of consecutive protests against a Black district attorney who has had really some of the worst practices.

From what I can tell, she's been pressured by the movement to change some of her positions on important issues like prosecution of low-level drug offenders, for example, and the aggressiveness with which she prosecutes police officers for acts of violence.

What do you make of the calls to defend or even abolish the police?

What I find so compelling about abolition, initially in the prison context and extended to the police as well, is that it shifts the conversation and forces us to go through experiments in which we imagine what it would take to build that world. I think that exercise is very important, because it pushes us further than we are naturally inclined to go. Cultivating a broader imagination is an incredibly important part of this work, because as you know from my book, often it was lack of imagination that caused people to fall back on [punitive policies]. 

That's what caused D.C. Councilmember David Clarke to call the police rather than public health experts when he was overwhelmed with letters about heroin addicts in public space. He was anti-drug war, but he couldn't imagine responding to a call for help with heroin addicts with anything other than police. That's a very common move from even really good and progressive people. 

People who are for defunding, for abolition, are absolutely right about reinvesting that money into alternative structures that support communities. But the reinvestment part doesn't follow naturally from the terms. We might want to come up with a term that captures the new stuff we want to do. I think that's particularly important because one of the reasons Black communities have ended up supporting more police is that Black communities have always wanted their fair share of the resources.

Then, the evidence suggests the United States has too many police officers doing prophylactic, preventative, or stop-and-frisk style policing. The style of policing that leads to district level harassment, pulling people over for no reason. But we have too little investment in the parts of police departments that investigate unsolved crimes. I'm talking about the investigator or the detective who comes to your house after there's been a robbery, an assault, a rape, or homicide. 

As compared to European countries, in the United States we actually underinvest in those parts of our police departments. Jill Leovy’s book Ghettoside shows this in dramatic detail. She describes an LAPD that's stopping and frisking Black drivers wantonly and yet the homicide detectives are still relying on a fax machine and the fax machine is broken. They have to go with their own money to Staples to buy a printer. Meanwhile, other aspects of the department are kitted out in this ridiculous riot gear that makes them look like they're in Fallujah. 

That under investment is particularly damaging to Black communities because we're disproportionately victimised by crime. Because of racism and this allocation of resources, the police are less likely to respond in Black communities. The kids I used to work with in the charter schools in DC, we talk about no snitching, but one of the reasons they would never call the police after they'd been victimised by crime is they would say, “They're not even going to come. You're wasting time.” 

I did a Q&A with Jill Leovy too and her argument is one I've struggled to articulate in our present moment. She argues the state doesn't have a monopoly on violence in low-income Black neighbourhoods, because investigations of violence are deemphasised and crime victims or their loved ones often take retribution into their own hands.  But right now, establishing or preserving the state's monopoly on violence isn't an appealing talking point. 

Yes, this is another thing nobody's talking about. Whatever we're going to do instead of the police has to be accountable to the public. The best, most direct way to have accountability is to have the individuals be public employees. As long as we have 300 million guns in this country at least some of those state employees are going to themselves be armed. It's unreasonable to ask them to do the job without it. Not as many need to be armed as are armed now, but some of them need to be. But they can't be hiding behind union contracts or civil service protections which make it impossible to remove even the worst performing, most abusive officers. 

We can not call them police if we want to. That's semantic, but maybe symbolism matters. But those people have to be state employees. They can work with community-based nonprofits, but there are also communities that don't have as robust of a nonprofit network, and they deserve protection too. These [community] groups have to be accountable to the state and, when they don't exist, the state has to be there. 

Progressives get all the points I just made when it's applied to education. The notion that things be public and accountable to the state is understood when it comes to schools. It's exactly why so many people on the left are opposed to charter schools, because they say they don't have public accountability. They want these things to be a state function. But this point about the difficulty in removing this entirely from the hands of the state is, I think, one that liberals and progressives understand from other contexts.

Jake Blumgart is a staff writer at CityMetric.